


The Right Moment

by helens78



Category: Smallville
Genre: F/M, Possessiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-13
Updated: 2007-01-13
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lex is always waiting for the right moment to put his claim on people.  Lois thinks she knows what she's doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Right Moment

**Author's Note:**

> I have a bit of a soft spot for Lex/Lois, probably due to the John Byrne era, when there was obviously something between them, but Lois was in major denial. I can totally see this Lois getting carried away and not knowing what the hell she's doing with Lex, but not being able to stop herself. And that dynamic kills me every time. ^_^

He can do this. He can do this because Lana's already said yes, and there's nothing that could stop him from marrying her. He can do it because he hates Oliver, because he loves Clark, because Lois is always in the middle, somehow, and it's time to scratch that itch she represents.

Why she's doing it, he won't ask. He cares, but not enough to pursue it. But she's so hot for it she's practically shaking, so wet that when he gets his hand between her legs his fingers glide in nice and easy. She digs her nails into his shoulders--thank God he's still got his shirt on, because scratches would be an unnecessary complication--and shoves her hips forward, fucking herself on his fingers.

He twists them, thrusts them into her, and her eyes slam shut. She bites her lower lip and swallows the sound, and like always, watching is more important than doing. It's too easy to lose sight of what he's accomplishing if he's getting off at the same time. It's too easy to miss the signals, the little signs that say she's losing control. There's a moment where all he has to do is swoop in and say _Mine_, and just like that, it's true. He doesn't want to miss that moment with Lois; he's missed it once, and that was enough for a lifetime.

It might not happen this time, and that's all right. There'll be more times like this, more late-night, hurried fucks while she gets off on the thrill of cheating, the thrill of knowing they could get caught. He can tell that's part of the draw for her, but he can't tell _why_ yet. It doesn't matter. He'll figure it out before too long.

He pulls one of her legs up around his waist and pins her to the wall, cheek to cheek with her, not even trying to kiss her. She looks like she bites, and he doesn't want to go home with swollen lips. This isn't about kissing anyway; it's about pushing into her, long and slow and deep, and groaning softly at the feel of her, nothing separating them. She's reckless enough to let him fuck her raw, and he's twisted enough to like the idea of marking Oliver's whore, marking her inside when he comes.

It doesn't take long. He makes it last just long enough for her to go stiff, for her to lose the fog of lust-based madness as her orgasm wears off. The minute she starts realizing where she is and what she's doing, he's done with her, and it's easy to let himself go and just come without a sound. A few more seconds and he pulls away; she tugs her skirt down, tries to straighten her hair without letting him see how much she's panicking.

Panic isn't a half-bad look on her.

"I have to go," she says, looking around, grabbing her purse off the floor. "And this--this didn't happen, you got that?" Her eyes narrow. "This never happened."

He's already straightened out his clothes, and he digs out a handkerchief to wipe his fingers clean. "What never happened?"

"Right. Exactly."

And she's off like a shot, probably trying to convince herself it's the truth.

He sends her earrings in the morning, emeralds. Meteor rock was tempting, but no; he can afford to give her the real thing. She might tell herself they come from Oliver. Or the Green Arrow. Why not? They're his color.

He can't wait to see her wearing them. She will, no matter what she's told herself about who bought them, and next time--next time he'll bite at her earlobe, lick over the stones and whisper _Mine_. And there won't be a damned thing she can do to stop him then.

_-end-_


End file.
